The Storm Before the Calm

A flash of light behind the curtains hinted at an incoming summer storm.

Sarah sat up, joints popping and muscles aching. She had fallen asleep on the couch while reading, and now she sat in darkness. She went to the window, opened the curtains wide, just as another flash lit the ominous clouds in violet and blue threads. Sarah watched in awe.

She had always enjoyed summer thunderstorms, for as long as she could remember. She found them relaxing or thrilling, depending on how close they were. She was also fortunate to live in an area where she rarely experienced a truly dangerous storm passing over her house. This one was far enough away that she barely heard any thunder.

Returning to her couch, she lay down facing the window, pulled a blanket over herself, and settled in for the show.

She suddenly remembered her oldest son watching a different storm with her, a long time ago. That one was one of the rare instances where they felt the full power and threat a storm could be. But all he remembered of it was the power going out. Apparently that was the most frightening and memorable part for him. He’d brought it up for years after that.

Sarah felt a sharp ache in her chest at the memory. She tried to push it away, but more memories flooded in, unwanted. It had been a tradition for them, when her boys were young, to sit in her room and watch the storms together in the dark. They’d gasp and point as if they were watching a fireworks show, or lie in bed and fall asleep together while they watched.

The rumbling grew louder, and the bolts brighter. Definitely getting closer, not passing by at a distance this time. A clear white flash was close enough to light her entire living room. She counted the seconds until the boom, a trick her Grandpa had taught her, bracing herself. Still two miles away, according to him.

She wondered for a moment whether her boys still watched the storms like this. Or if they had always thought it was silly, only humoring her. She hadn’t really thought about it in a long time. She couldn’t actually remember when they had stopped watching them together.

Now the rain was coming down in noisy sheets, mixing with the booms and rumbles. One roll of thunder was so close the walls shook.

This was a rare event for her, and she impulsively wanted to share it with someone. But who was there? She pulled her phone out and stared at the screen. Empty, of course. She sighed and put it away again.

She hadn’t heard from either of her sons in months. Even though they didn’t say so, she knew deep down that they were angry with her and blamed her for the divorce. They were already grown men, but she knew it had to still hurt.

The rain seemed to be shifting to hail, and she briefly worried whether her raspberry bushes would survive the night.

This time her phone was in her hands before she knew she had done it, a bad habit she’d picked up. She started to put it away again, but paused. She knew who she wanted to message, but doubt held her back.

“Oh, come on, he’s your son. What’s the worst thing he could say?” she asked out loud. That you destroyed their family, she thought.

She opened her messages, went to her oldest son’s, and started typing before she could lose her nerve. After a few moments of typing and deleting messages, she settled on, “Hi Owen! Are you seeing this storm?” She cringed.

There was a long pause while the ellipsis appeared and disappeared several times, telling her he was working on writing back. Her anxiety grew with each passing moment, and she imagined he was drafting a long response, telling her off for divorcing his father, how he hated her and hadn’t forgiven her.

“Hi, Mom! Yeah, I’m sitting in bed watching it, actually,” he wrote back.

A lump formed in her throat at that.

He was typing, and she waited again.

She was only half aware of the walls shaking in her house again. The storm was still raging outside.

“How are you doing?” he messaged.

She scoffed. She hated answering that question lately. She didn’t know what to say. Lonely. Hating myself. Wondering if I made a mistake. “Fine,” she wrote back, followed by, “How are you doing? It’s good to talk to you.”

He quickly replied with, “I’m ok. Yea, I haven’t heard from you in a while. Honestly, I was starting to worry a little.”

He was starting to worry? Why didn’t he just reach out to me? she wondered.

“I hadn’t heard from you in a while. I figured you didn’t want to talk to me,” she sent back.

There was a long pause as the ellipsis appeared and disappeared several times, and she braced herself. This was it, she thought. Now he would tell her his true feelings.

Finally, he replied with, “I sent you a message on your birthday. You never replied. I figured you wanted some space.”

She flushed. Did I not reply? she wondered. She was certain she had been the last one to message him, not the other way around.

She scrolled up to the message just before the one she had sent, and sure enough, there it was. He did send her a birthday note. He even said he loved her.

She thought she had messaged him back. She realized she must have spent so much time trying to figure out what she wanted to say that she never actually wrote back. She didn’t even say thank you. She groaned and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head at her mistake.

It really was her fault they hadn’t talked in months, but not in the way she had assumed.

Sarah drafted and deleted several attempts at a response before settling on, “I’m so sorry. I thought I had replied.”

“That’s ok. I know you have a lot going on,” he texted back.

That wasn’t really the problem. She knew it wasn’t ok, and she felt terrible. Still, she was relieved.

She decided to change the subject. They chatted for a bit to catch up and talk about the storm still passing over their county. He promised to call her over the weekend, and they said their goodbyes.

As she put her phone away, she felt a weight ease off her chest.

Why did I wait so long to reach out? She wondered. She decided she would wait until morning to text her younger son. It was late now, and she didn’t want to push her luck.

Sarah realized the rain had stopped, the rumbling was quieting, and the lightning fading away as the storm moved on.

She tsked, disappointed. They never lasted long enough for her liking.